Resolutions
by naughtynyx
Summary: Sequel to Happy New Year, Molly Hooper. After the kiss Molly and Sherlock have some things to resolve. Please R
1. Prologue

A continuation of 'Boxing day' and Happy 'New Year, Molly Hooper'. This will (probably) be the last installment in this series. But, then again it was never supposed to go past the original one-shot, so who knows? Not me!

Summary: Takes place the morning after the New Year's party at Baker's street; After their kiss Sherlock and Molly have a few issues to resolve.

A/N: This one is a bit longer than the prior two but won't be an epic – just a few(2 or 3)chapters. If you haven't read the previous two stories, I suggest doing so.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Please R&R!

xoxo

Molly Hooper had always been a morning person. She woke up every morning with an optimistic outlook for the day ahead. So the fact that she woke up with a smile on the morning of 1 January 2012 was not out of the ordinary; she'd woken up smiling plenty of times. But never before had the grin been so wide that her cheeks hurt from the strain; it felt as if she had been smiling throughout the entire night. And as she remembered the events of the previous evening, the party at Baker's street, she realised that was a very likely possibility.

Last night Sherlock Holmes had kissed Molly Hooper. Not just any kiss – not a simple(awkward) peck on the cheek like at Christmas. But a real honest to god knee buckling, inside melting, full-blown snog.

Molly brought her fingertips to her lips and could swear they were still tingling. Then her mouth somehow stretched back even further.

xoxo

Sherlock Holmes had never particularly been a morning person. He wasn't partial to any certain time of day really. Time only ever mattered to him was when he was on a case. Only when he was working did his eyes pop open after waking from the requisite sleep he needed to function properly with an invigorating feeling, ready to get on with whatever puzzle that needed to be solved.

But now that Irene Adler was deceased he had no compelling case at the moment. Therefore it was odd for him to come awake with that flutter of excitement in his gut.

His brow pulled together as he tried to recall what could possibly be the cause for this feeling.

What new game had he been introduced to?

His brow smoothed out as the realisation dawned on him. The events of the night before folding out in his mind.

He, Sherlock Holmes had kissed Molly Hooper.

The flutter vanished and his stomach sank as he realised what a horrible mistake he had made.

xoxox


	2. Chapter 1

**xoxo**

Dear god, what had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn't been, obviously.

All common sense had abandoned him as he was hit by a tide of jealously seeing the way DI Lestrade had been drooling all over HIS pathologist.

He had been overcome with the feeling, and, as he always maintained was the case, the emotions had wreaked havoc with his ability to reason clearly. He had let his feelings propel him to do something he never would have done under normal circumstances.

Sherlock had always prided himself on being able to keep the door firmly closed between his mind and his emotions; he had locked it up years ago and nothing had been able to penetrate it. Until John Waston came along and somehow managed to slip through the cracks before Sherlock realised this it was too late.

Then that _Woman_ showed up and wriggled her way in, however slightly, it had been enough to weaken Sherlock's barrier enough allowing Molly Hooper to come along and bust it off its hinges.

Molly Hooper.

Who would have ever thought that plain, ordinary Molly Hooper would be the one to wear down the steely resolve of Sherlock Holmes?

Certainly not the great consulting detective himself. He'd never seen this coming.

But, then again, he always did miss something, didn't he.

Now, in hindsight, of course he could see all these little things that had led him to take the action he had last night.

If he had ever bothered to analyse himself properly, he would have recognised that he had always – in his way – liked Molly. He respected her. Trusted her. And she annoyed him far less than most people did – despite her awful jokes and deplorable attempts to make conversation. She was the only pathologist who ever worked at Bart's whose presence in the lab didn't grate him so intensely that he had to find someway to get them sacked.

In fact, he actually, almost, enjoyed her company – at least when she was helping him and kept silent, that is.

And then there was the incident at the Christmas party.

He winced recalling the memory of the look on her face after he had insulted her and the way her voice had cracked when she put him in his place. He had reacted to her display of emotions. He'd felt something himself in return; a pang in his chest and sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like having hurt her.

Not that causing people pain was something that usually caused him joy. No, usually hurting the feelings of others didn't effect him at all – because he didn't have _feelings_ of his own.

Or, at least, he wasn't supposed to.

But he had felt genuine remorse for hurting the feelings of Molly Hooper. He had _apologised_, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he had meant it. And then when he bent down and brushed her cheek with his lips, he felt an odd tingle. He hadn't had time to properly reflect on the sensation when The Woman's rude text alert sounded.

He should have paid more attention.

Then there was Boxing day, when Sherlock had gone to Molly's flat with a token of apology(a sterling silver bracelet with a pink heart pendent.)

The joy on Molly's face when she opened the gift made his chest feel with warmth; it felt good to make her happy.

This was not something that Sherlock was comfortable with; he should not care either way about Molly Hooper's feelings. And he certainly shouldn't be wanting to make an effort to sway them(unless of course he needed to make her feel good for his own gain) But he shouldn't want to do things _just for the sake of making her smile_.

This was unacceptable!

He'd have to do something about it. Nip it in the bud, as they say.

No doubt Molly had some kind of ideas about what happened last night changing the course of their relationship and will be disappointed when she learns that nothing can be different.

_Oh well, if she's disappointed it's not my problem, _Sherlock thought icily, but he frowned at the thought of seeing her big brown eyes fill with hurt again. His frown deepened when he was unable to shake his concern.

He shouldn't be concerned!

He was momentarily shaken from his reverie by the sound of his flatmate groaning loudly from his bedroom.

The corners of his mouth quirked considering what a sorry state the other man must be in.

_Good,_ Sherlock thought. _It's his own fault for drinking so excessively. He should suffer. _Sherlock thought that what transpired last night was, in no small part – in fact almost entirely– John's fault.

It was his foolish idea to have the party in the first place, despite what a disaster the one for Christmas had been. _He_ was the one who invited Molly Hooper. And he was the one who got so drunk he went around snogging everybody, including Molly Hooper, the sight of which had been the impetus for Sherlock resorting to such drastic measures.

If it wasn't for John he wouldn't be in the predicament he was in now. So Sherlock cannot be to blamed if Molly is hurt when she realises that she and Sherlock will go on the same as always– John is.

This perfectly sound reasoning made Sherlock smile – that as well as listening to the heaving sounds coming from the bathroom.

Sherlock plucked up his violin and started playing a purposely off-key melody.

A moment later John came staggering out of his bedroom.

"Oi!" the doctor cried over Sherlock's playing. "Keep it down will you!"

Sherlock ceased the bow and whipped round. "Good morning John!" he boomed. John winced. "Sorry I didn't hear you," Sherlock went on, his voice still several decimals louder than it needed to be. "What did you say?"

"I said," John said, clutching the side of his throbbing head. "Keep it down a bit if you don't mind. My head is killing."

"Well that's a wonder," Sherlock drily remarked, bending to place his violin and bow on the sofa. "Can't imagine why."

"Please, Sherlock, I'm in no condition for your sarcasm right now," John grumbled. "So yeah, maybe I went a bit overboard last night. But it was New Year; getting pissed is what you're supposed to do."

Sherlock huffed. "Are you also supposed to go around mauling people with your mouth?"

"Well, er, yeah, actually," John replied. "Kissing at midnight is tradition." He rubbed the back of his neck looking sheepish. "Though I guess I took that a bit too far too. Er... sorry."

Sherlock arched his brow. "Why whatever for?" he asked gliding suggestively toward his flatmate "You rocked my world Dr. Watson," he practically purred. "Last night you gave me the thing I've been longing for ever since you moved in. It's made me so happy knowing you feel the same way about me as I do you."

It shouldn't have been possible, but John's already pasty hung-over complexion, went even paler as he goggled at his flatmates words. He gulped.

"What?" he squeaked. "Er... mate, listen, I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea," he grappled. "But, I don't – I mean you know that I'm not–" John's clumsy rambling cut off when he caught the barely controlled twitch of Sherlock's lips and the unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes.

John sighed at himself for being so gullible.

"Oh, bugger off!"

Sherlock's brow arched. "Careful what you say John?" He warned. "Wouldn't want to give me the wrong idea again, would you?"

John rolled his eyes, then winced as the action split his head. He flopped down in his usual chair.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well your kiss may not have effected me, but I'd say you sure gave Mrs. Hudson the thrill of a lifetime – not to mention Lestrade."

John winced again. "It's not all my fault I got so drunk last night you know," he said. "You're to blame as well."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really? How so?"

"Well," John began, "if you hadn't been so stubborn and dead-set against letting loose and having a good time, I wouldn't have had to drink your share of the champaign."

Sherlock gave his flatmate a look. "Really John, even you must see the flaw in your reasoning. Wouldn't the most logical thing to have done been to disperse equally the surplus alcohol instead of imbibing it all on your own?"

John's brow knitted. He scratched the back of his head. "Er... well, yeah. I suppose."

Sherlock nodded tersely. "Precisely. You can't go around blaming others for your actions, John," Sherlock lectured. "You must take responsibility for yourself." With a flourish of his dressing gown, Sherlock folded himself onto the couch.

John shook his head and snickered. "Yeah, I really must have been out of it last night," he remarked. "Cos, I could have sworn that I saw you snogging the face off of Molly yourself."

Sherlock stiffened. He didn't say a word.

"Shite!" John muttered in disbelief. "I didn't imagine that, did I? You really did kiss Molly!"

Sherlock turned his head away. "Well, you said yourself 'it's tradition'," he said stiffly.

"Oh and since when were you ever one to follow tradition?" John countered.

Sherlock sprung to his feet and crossed over to the window(right in the same spot where the incident had occurred last night)

"It didn't mean anything," he contended. "I was simply saving Molly from being accosted again like she was by you; Lestrade was going to try something. I was just being a friend."

"Well how do you know Molly didn't want Lestrade to try something?" asked John. "They seemed to be enjoying each other's company most of the party."

Sherlock snapped around and narrowed his eyes at John. "Honestly, John! You can't really think that Molly would be interested in _him_." He scoffed. "It's ridiculous."

John smiled, a knowing sort of smile, at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even further wondering what it was exactly John thought he knew that Sherlock didn't. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," John loftily replied. "Nothing at all." He heaved himself up from the chair and started off to the kitchen to for a cuppa, chuckling all the way while Sherlock glared daggers at his back.

**xoxo**

Molly Hooper was often in good spirits; she was just an optimistic person that liked to believe in the best. But even her co-workers at St. Bartholomew's hospital, who were used to the upbeat Dr. Hooper, were intrigued by her behaviour this morning. On three separate occasions when interns had brung down bodies to the morgue they had walked in on the pathologist singing. One had even witnessed her holding a scalpel to her mouth and belting out _And then he kissed me_ whilst in the middle of an autopsy.

Some wondered if perhaps she hadn't indulged a bit too much the night before and was maybe a still a little inebriated.

Molly was well aware of the strange looks she was receiving and the murmurings of her colleagues about how she was acting, but she simply didn't care. She was far too happy and she just couldn't contain herself.

She had finally experienced the one thing she'd been wanting for three years ever since the man with the most intense blue eyes she'd ever seen had walked into her morgue.

She had fantasised, what must have been a million times, about kissing Sherlock Holmes. But, as was always the case, the reality didn't compare to the fantasy. No, reality had been far better.

She had absolutely no words to describe what his lips had felt like against hers. But she knew that she had felt the kiss in every fibre of her being; the sensation had exploded all the way out of her toes. It was simply amazing.

She had spent most of the day trying to relive the moment in her mind, but found she just couldn't do it justice – but, she was still enjoying trying.

She giggled as she opened the drawer to her desk in her office to find a pen to fill in some paper work. She froze when a long forgotten tube of lipstick rolled into view from the back of the drawer where she had shoved it over a year ago.

With tentative hands she reached into the desk and picked up the lipstick. She popped off the cap and rolled it up.

_What happened to the lipstick?_ His voice echoed in her mind.

_...now your mouth's too small._

She had been crushed at his words then. It hadn't been the first time and it wouldn't be the last.

_...to make up for the size of your mouth and breast._

She twisted the lipstick down, put the cap back on, dropped it and slammed the drawer shut.

Her hands were trembling as she realised how naive she was being about this whole thing. She was assuming that just because Sherlock kissed her that that changed something somehow.

But, nothing was really different. It was just as it always was. The man was just dangling a carrot in front of her to lure her in so he could whack her over the head with the stick.

He was using her, manipulating her. He had to be. It was Sherlock Bloody Holmes; he didn't do anything without an ulterior motive.

And if he wasn't sweetening her up for some favour he needed, then he was probably conducting some sort of experiment.

Yes, that was probably it, an experiment.

What had she really thought that Sherlock really fancied her or something?

She snorted derisively at herself. If the man had any sort of romantic feelings for her, then why would it have taken him three years to make a move. It's not as if Sherlock Holmes was the shy sort.

And besides, she wasn't even the only one he had kissed last night; he snogged John too. So had she for that matter. (Well technically John had kissed them, but still...)

The way Molly had been going on all morning, one would think that just because Sherlock kissed her they were betrothed. So using that reasoning she was also engaged to John and he to Sherlock.

Maybe the three of them were going to enter a ménage B trois.

Molly giggled out right at that thought; she could just imagine telling her mum, who was constantly on her case about not finding a boyfriend. _Well, mum, no I have two and we all shag like rabbits together. I'm getting it from both ends now it's a wonder I can walk._

She laughed even harder – the sound was becoming a bit hysterical.

When she stopped laughing she whimpered at her own foolishness, folding her arms on her desk and laying her head on them.

She wanted to scream.

_Why do I always do this?_ She asked herself. _I always act like a besotted schoolgirl when it comes to that man. I get my hopes up over the smallest little things. Why don't I know better by now_?

And she really should have, now that she thought about it, when she considered Sherlock's behaviour after the greatest kiss of her life had occurred...

One moment he had been practically seducing her with the words _'Happy New Year, Molly Hooper_,' His eyes were like rings of blue flames round widened black pupils. They had burned into her, igniting all the way down to her core.

And then, in the next second, the spell had snapped.

Sherlock blinked and the fire was extinguished. His irises resorted back to icicles and the sexy smirk he'd been wearing dissolved into his usual mask of impassivity. His arms let go of her so abruptly, Molly nearly crumpled to the floor. She had to put out her hand to steady herself on the back of the chair by the window.

Sherlock cleared his throat brusquely and said, in a smooth emotionless tone, "Well, it's getting rather late. I think I'll retire for the night." He gave her a sharp nod. "Goodnight, Dr. Hooper." With that he had twirled on his heel and strode to his bedroom, slamming the door soundly behind him.

Leaving Molly to gape in his wake as her head spun from the whirlwind he had just swept her up in, only to drop her at the peak.

She had lingered at Baker's Street for over an hour afterwards hoping that Sherlock would come out of his room. Finally realising he wasn't going to, she gathered up her bag and went home.

"Oh, god," she groaned aloud. She propped her arms up on their elbows and buried her face in her hands. She shook her head at herself.

She had let herself get so wrapped up in the memory of what it was like to kiss Sherlock, that she had completely dismissed everything that happened after.

In short, she'd been a fool. She done the exact thing she had promised herself she wasn't going to do anymore. She was supposed to be giving up this hopeless fixation with the consulting detective and getting on with her life.

Like every other New Year's resolution she ever made, she broke. But she usually at least managed to last a few weeks; this one she'd broken before the year had even officially began.

She dropped her head again and banged it lightly on the top of her desk.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she berated herself.

She heard muffled voices coming from the hall and froze in her self abuse. She brought her head up and listened more intently.

She could make out that it was a set of two voices, male, one very distinct.

The colour drained from her face. _Oh god no,_ she thought. _Not now._

She had somehow failed to remember that part of the night after waking up this morning. She only remembered the kiss and the look in his eyes right already felt bad enough, she didn't need HIM coming here to add to her humiliation.

She looked towards the metal lockers that held the bodies and wished she could trade places with one of them right now. Or perhaps she could at least crawl into an empty drawer.

She closed her eyes, sighing as she resigned herself to her fate.

_Oh no you don't, Molly Hooper,_ a voice in her head told her; it was strong Molly. The one that spoke up whenever Molly felt at her weakest and wanted to give up. _You do not have to let that man make you feel like this anymore. So, what, you looked a bit silly in front of a few of your colleagues; you've suffered worse. But HE still hasn't seen the effect he had on you and he doesn't need to. You can still stick to your resolution. Forget Sherlock Holmes. He's probably forgotten all about what happened last night anyway – 'deleted the data' or whatnot. Like he does with all meaningless information. Which is exactly what you've always been to him, meaningless. So why let him have so much control over you?_

Molly coughed, clearing her throat of the tears that had clogged it and sat up straighter, lifting her chin.

Her stronger self was right. She still had a chance to save face. She wasn't going to lose it. No more letting Sherlock Holmes get to her.

She pressed her lips together in a determinate line and nodded to herself. "I can do this," she bolstered herself as she took a breath and pushed back from her desk.

_You can do this,_ Strong Molly agreed and Molly smiled squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of her office and went to greet the men that just entered the morgue.

_TBC..._

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please drop me a review and let me know what you think of this so far, and if you are interested in seeing how it's all resolved.**

**Laters lovies!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to everyone that reviewed the first chap.**

**Here's number 2! **

**A/N: Sorry about the change in rating – I did it to be safe, I've just had a fic yanked not too long ago, so I'm being extra-cautious. But, there isn't any graphic material, just some suggestiveness.**

**Oh and right, I don't own Sherlock. Thank god! The show wouldn't be the awesomeness it is if I did. **

**Please R&R**

"Oi! Could you slow down a bit?" John pleaded to Sherlock's back. The quick clip at which the long-legged detective usually moved was difficult enough for the significantly shorter man to keep up with and Sherlock was walking even faster than normal which made it even worse - not to mention the hangover John was still plagued with did nothing to help either. -

The doctor paused to lean against the wall so that he could catch his breath - and perhaps wait for the world to stop spinning a bit.

Sherlock, hearing that John's footfalls had stopped behind him, heaved a sigh and turned to his flatmate.

"Do come on, John," he enjoined, irritated.

"I need a mo'," John replied, panting.

Sherlock groaned, tapping his foot impatiently.

"What's your big hurry, anyway?" John wanted to know. "It's not like we've got a case on or anything."

"I have... experiments that need seeing to," Sherlock prevaricated, looking away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Well that doesn't explain why you insisted that I come along," John grumped. "You've never needed my help with your experiments before."

Sherlock shrugged. "I thought the brisk air would do you some good."

John snorted. "Right, the smell of death and formaldehyde will do wonders for my stomach," he mumbled.

Sherlock's mouth quirked. _Yes, there is that._

The consulting detective was still working under the notion that John was responsible for his kissing Molly. So he was doling out a bit of punishment for the doctor by making John accompany him to the morgue. However, that wasn't the only reason he wanted to have someone along with him when he saw Molly. There was this niggling feeling in him that he might not be able to hold on to his decision to dash any hopes Molly that their kiss meant anything when he actually saw her; he feared if he let himself alone with her, he might do something foolish.

Like kiss her again. He'd been thinking about it – not actively, but visions of doing it played out in the darker corners of his mind palace.

_Nothing can ever happen again,_ Sherlock silently averred. He had no room in his life for romance; it simply wasn't his area.

Clenching his jaw in determination, he whirled on his heels and continued toward the morgue.

John groaned and pushed himself off the wall, jogging to catch up to his friend.

Sherlock suddenly jerked to a halt right in front of the mortuary doors, consequently almost making John run right into him.

John's feet skidded slightly as he abruptly stopped right before his face would have smacked into Sherlock's back.

"Er, Sherlock?" he prompted confused. The man had been in such a hurry to get here now he was just standing there.

John's brow furrowed as he peered up at the taller man's face. Sherlock's eyes were clenched shut and his nostrils flaring like he was taking deep breaths.

If he was looking at anyone else, John would think he was nervous; but this was Sherlock Holmes – the man didn't get nervous.

Sherlock felt paralysed as he stood outside the morgue picturing the look of disappointment in Molly's big brown eyes when she realised that Sherlock wasn't going to be reciprocating her feelings for him. She would be heartbroken for sure. And he didn't want to see her that way. But it was for the best to squash her fancies of any sort of future relationship as quickly as possible. Though he didn't have many, Sherlock was fully aware of his limits, and engaging in a relationship was well out of them.

He wouldn't be any good for Molly. Molly wanted a man to marry, to start a family with; Sherlock was decidedly not the right man for such things. He could hardly abide children; he found them so tedious.

He was doing Molly a favour. She may be upset for now, but in the end, she would see it was for the best. She would finally give up on him and find a man more suitable.

Sherlock's teeth ground together though as he thought of Molly with another man.

A vision of Molly in a wedding dress popped into his head; she was standing at the end of the aisle next to Lestrade. Then his face melted away and Molly's groom turned into John.

Sherlock's hands curled into fist as he pictured them wrapping around the respective necks of his doctor friend and the Detective Inspector.

"Sherlock?" John's voice annoyingly intruded into his thoughts.

He opened his eyes, though only narrowly and jerked his head towards John. "What?" he snapped.

John blinked. "Just wondering if you planned on opening that any time soon is all," he mumbled nodding to the door.

Sherlock squared his shoulders and turned back to the door.

_Right,_ he thought. _It is_ _time to finish this,_ _s__o my mind can stop being muddled by such frivolous matters and I can get back to doing what I do best_.

Without further preamble, Sherlock pushed open the doors, with more force than was strictly necessary.

A moment after the door banged loudly against the wall, Molly's head came poking round the corner from her office. She was dressed differently than normal; for one she was wearing a skirt. Sherlock couldn't remember her ever once wear a skirt inside the hospital before; it wasn't practical as it was quite cold down in the morgue - and she wasn't even wearing tights to compensate. Also, instead of the frumpy shirts and sweaters she usually adorned, she was wearing a silk blouse, that was, while not tight by any means, form fitting enough to show off and flatter her figure. Her shoes were the same ballet flats from the night previous. And her hair was down and curling slightly at the ends, framing her face nicely.

Just like last night, Sherlock was taken aback by how pretty she looked. He felt a tickle in his chest and the urge to smile trying to force up his lips as he gazed at her. As well as a strong impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her again. He coughed trying to clear it away the feeling and pressed his lips tightly together.

"Hiya, Molly. You look nice today," John's voice once again snapped Sherlock out of his reveries.

_Thank you, John_, he said silently. This was precisely the reason he had wanted to bring his friend along; to keep him in check. Sherlock pressed his lips firmly together and coughed away the warm feeling in his chest.

"Not that you don't usually," John went on. "Just...more so today. Erm…new blouse?"

Molly giggled at John's bumbling comment. "Thank you, John. It is new, yeah." She looked down at the light blue blouse. "It was Christmas gift. I'm glad you like it."

"It's nice," John said again.

Molly smiled at him. "Well, I didn't expect to see you two here today," she remarked, changing the subject. "Especially not you John, not after the way you went after the champagne last night," she added with a playful smirk.

John chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah..." he drawled awkwardly. "I did over do it a bit. Listen... er, sorry if I came on a bit strong there you know with the erm..."

"Kiss?" Molly supplied helpfully, holding in another giggle.

"Yeah, that."

"Trust me, Dr. Watson, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Molly assured him coyly and gave him a small wink.

Sherlock stiffened at the action. How could she be so blatantly flirting with another man right in front of him? His best friend no less!

Sherlock eyed John who was blushing like a fool and grinning like an idiot - confirming that Molly's flirting wasn't a figment of Sherlock's imagination.

His eyes narrowed at his flatmate.

Why had he allowed him to come along?

John caught the glare Sherlock was sending his way - it was like the old saying; if looks could kill, John would be lying on one of Molly's slabs right now. He quickly straightened himself out, wiping the smile of his face.

"Oh, erm..." he stammered.

Molly giggled at him.

"Don't worry, John," she said. "I'm just having a bit of fun. Honestly don't think too much about the kiss. It was New Year! You're supposed to go about snogging everyone! It's not like it actually meant anything."

Sherlock tensed even further at that remark. _Didn't mean anything?_ Is that how she felt about the kiss they'd shared as well?

John flicked his eyes to his flatmate; Sherlock looked wound up so tight, John was worried he might explode. "Yeah, 'spose you're right," he muttered with a tight smile, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Well," Molly ventured. "I was just about to pop up for a coffee – can I get you a cup?"

"Oh, cheers, that'd be heaven," John gratefully accepted.

Molly smiled and turned to the other man. "What about you Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised a brow at her. "Sorry, Molly, are you speaking to me? I didn't think you'd noticed my presence."

Molly's brow furrowed a timid smile wavering on her lips. "Of course I knew you were here, silly."

She glanced at John questioningly.

The other doctor just gave her a shrug.

Sherlock made a '_hmpf'_ noise. "Could have fooled me," he muttered.

"Erm...okay," Molly drawled. "So...do you want a coffee then, or not?"

Sherlock blinked at her in shock, his mouth dropping open a bit; he had expected her to make some sort of attempt at an apology for ignoring him.

"Sherlock?" she prompted when he didn't reply.

He clamped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. "No," he told her, his voice stone-cold. "I don't want any coffee, Molly.

Molly shrugged. "Okay, then." She turned to John with a bright smile. "Back in a jiff!" She breezed past both men and out of the morgue.

As soon as the doors swung closed behind her, Sherlock spun on his heels and stomped over to the lab work station he usually occupied and sat down in a huff at _his_ microscope.

John looked warily at his friend. "E...you all right, mate?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Of course I'm all right," Sherlock stiffly replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. You just seem a bit... off today."

"_Off_?" Sherlock repeated derisively. "Off_ how _John?"

John shrugged. "Well, I dunno, distracted maybe. Does it have anything to do with Molly – that kiss last night?"

Sherlock stiffened. "Don't be absurd John," he snarled. "You heard Dr. Hooper, _it didn't mean anything._ Now if you will please stop pestering me with these inane presumptions, I have experiments to conduct!" With that he turned his head down to look through the microscope ending the discussion.

"Oh, yeah, nothing's bothering you, you're just fine," John mumbled as he shrugged off his coat, shaking his head at what an idiot his genius flatmate could be.

**xoxoxo**

Molly was laughing – again. It was getting to grate on Sherlock's nerves listening to her incessant giggling. It wasn't the sound so much that he found offending – it was actually quite nice, different from the nervous titter he was used to her making. He thought he would actually enjoy listening to that laugh, had he been the one to elicit the sound from her. But, no, he wasn't he man Molly Hooper found so witty, that honour went to John Watson.

Molly had been chatting with John ever since she brought him back his coffee. She'd barely even spared a glance at Sherlock. Which was turn, she would usually flick longing glances at the consulting detective every few seconds.

Sherlock was beginning to feel invisible now. He didn't like it.

He cleared his throat loudly, demanding attention.

The laughing cut off at once. John and Molly looked Sherlock's way surprised.

"Something the matter, Sherlock?" John enquired.

"As a matter of fact, John, yes," he hissed. "_I am trying to concentrate._. A very difficult thing to do with the pair of you cackling like hens over there! Honestly, I don't even know why you came here John, if you have nothing useful to contribute," he snipped.

"Sorry? What?" John gawped. "You don't why I came here? You practically dragged me down here, Sherlock. I didn't ask to bloody come!"

"Well, John, if you don't want to be here, then why don't you just go." Sherlock raised his eyebrows slightly at the doctor, hinting that he was doing more than just making a suggestion.

"_Right!_" John bit, gathering himself to his feet. "Right, that's it. I'm leaving. Molly, it was nice chatting with you. I'll see you later."

"Oh," Molly said, a slight nervous strain entering her voice. "Er...right. Bye John."

"Sherlock, I'll see you at home."

Sherlock hummed absently.

"Right." John sighed and left.

Molly bit her bottom lip as the door closed behind him, leaving her alone in the lab with Sherlock.

_Oh, great_, she thought, groaning inwardly. She had been doing so well up until now, keeping strong. With John as a buffer it was easier to maintain her calm. But, now that he was gone she was afraid she would crack. It didn't help matters much that Sherlock was staring at her. She wasn't looking at him, but she could _feel_ his eyes on her.

She chanced him a glance and found she was right; his cold gaze was fixed in her direction. She pulled her lips back in a friendly smile. His expression remained hard as stone.

Molly pressed her lips together and flicked her eyes away. She cleared her throat delicately into the silence, no longer able to bear it.

"Erm, well," she ventured, her voice coming out much meeker than she'd have liked. _Damn_. She paused and cleared her throat again. Her voice came out a bit stronger when she spoke again. " I've some paper-work I should be getting back to. So I'll just..." She pointed toward her office. Sherlock continued to stare silently at her. Without bothering to finish her sentence, Molly stood up and scurried out of the lab and into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She fell against it with a sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head at herself.

_Yes, well done, Molly. Way to keep it together._

She rolled her eyes and pushed off the door. She plopped down in her chair and dropped her head on her desk.

Molly had been holed up in her office for more than an hour. She'd been down with her paper-work for ages now and found herself in desperate need of another coffee.

She cast a glance to the door as she tapped her pen on her desk.

Sherlock was still out there; she could hear him puttering about every once in a while.

_Right, I thought you weren't going to do this anymore, _That voice in her head reminded. _What happened to not letting Sherlock get to you anymore? Avoiding a problem isn't going to make it go away. You have to expose yourself to the poison in order to develop an immunity._ _So stop hiding in here like a silly ninny and go get yourself a cup of coffee!_

"Right," Molly said aloud with a sigh. She got up and walked purposely out into the lab.

"I'm going to get myself another cup of coffee – would you like one this time?" Molly asked in a rush as she crossed the lab to the door.

"How could you say it didn't mean anything?" Sherlock demanded, his voice low and fierce and so cold it froze Molly in her tracks.

She gaped at him, blinking in confusion. "I..." she started uncertainly. She shook her head, trying to rattle back the sense he'd just knocked out of it. "Sorry, what? I don't think I know what you mean?"

Sherlock shot up from his stool so abruptly Molly jumped. He strode round the work-top and stalked toward her.

"The kiss, Molly," he seethed. "How could you say that _the kiss_ didn't mean anything?"

Molly gulped as she looked up at the man looming over her, his eyes wild as they bore down on her own.

Her breath began to shallow. She licked her lips, nervously – and if she hadn't been so frightened she might have caught the way Sherlock's eyes flicked to watch the action.

She opened her mouth to say something, but not sound came out. She cleared her dry throat.

"The kiss?" she managed, voice squeaking. "You mean when John kissed me? Well, of course it didn't mean anything – you saw how pissed he was." She tried to laugh lightly, but it came out strangled and hysterical.

Sherlock took another step forward, Molly backed up to compensate and bumped into the edge of a work-top, letting out a yip when she did so.

Sherlock leaned down, putting his hand down on the table on either side of Molly, pinning her in place.

"Don't play with me Molly," he warned. "I've been playing games all my life – I'm better at then you. You know very well to which kiss I am referring and it isn't the one you shared with John! So, tell me, did kissing me really mean nothing to you?"

"Oh, right. That kiss," Molly panted. Her heart was fluttering like hummingbird wings. _Breathe Molly. Just breathe_. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes against the frostbiting orbs searing her.

"W-well," she stammered, but managed to sound almost calm. "I'm not sure really, what it meant – if anything. Why?" she asked. "Did it mean something to you?"

Molly held her breath and forced herself to keep eye contact with the man; she was amazed when she saw a flicker of doubt flicker behind Sherlock's icy irises.

He was grinding his teeth together – Molly could see the muscle's in his jaw twitching with the effort.

Just when Molly thought he wasn't going to answer her, Sherlock's eyes slipped closed – another shock, as he was never the one to break eye contact first – and he dropped his head, sounding grim and defeated when he admitted, "Yes." The word sounded strained, like he had to force himself to get it out. "It did mean something - much more than I realised apparently.

Molly started blinking furiously in shock; she'd never actually expected Sherlock to admit something like that.

"Oh," she remarked. "And w-what did it mean exactly?"

Sherlock opened his eyes to her; they were blazing with anger. Molly felt fear rising in her as she looked into them. Sherlock let out a growl and pushed himself away from Molly.

Molly gasped, jumping slightly at his swift action.

Sherlock spun, putting his back to her as he raked a hand roughly through his dark curls.

"I don't know!" he raged. "I can't define this way you make me..._feel_." The word dripped with disgust as it was gritted from his lips. "I can't stand it. I hate it. It makes me sick and no matter what I do, or how I try to reason, _I can't make it stop_! I can't make it go away. All I can think about is wanting to kiss you again, having you in my arms with your body pressed against mine." He whirled back to her. "I look at you now standing there and all I want to do is throw you down on that work-top and shag you senseless."

Molly had to brace herself on the edge of the table, her knees nearly buckling hearing him make such a proclamation. This was so much like a dream she'd had before; she wondered briefly if she'd fallen asleep at her desk and none of this was actually happening.

Instead of pinching herself – because then she would have to let go of the table and if she did that she might fall – she bit down on the inside of her cheek.

_Ow! Okay, then, not dreaming._

Right then, she needed to say something.

"Oh, is that right?" she asked.

"_Yes!_" Sherlock snarled. "That's right. I came here today with the intention of putting a stop to all this non-sense – to douse any assumptions you might have about our sharing a kiss changing the nature of our relationship." He let out a bitter laugh. "But, then I found out I needn't have bothered as it _didn't mean anything_ to you anyway. So, I suppose, the joke, as they say, is on me, isn't it." With a huff he turned round, putting his back to her again.

A charged silence filled the space between them; the only sound was Sherlock's worked up, heavy panting.

Then Molly started to giggle.

Sherlock stiffened. He turned to her with a severe expression. "Are you laughing at me?"

Molly nodded. "Yes. I am."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Well, I suppose my powers of deduction aren't as honed as I've always believed them to be," he began, voice clipped. "Because I never would have taken you as someone to be so cruel. Apparently I have grossly misjudged you, Dr. Hooper."

Molly gulped some air and reined in her laughter. "Oh, Sherlock," she sighed. "You really are a git, aren't you?"

Sherlock's brow arched. "And now you're insulting me. Well aren't you just full of unpleasant surprises today."

"Do you know why you're a git?" she asked.

"No," Sherlock replied with a sneer."Please Dr. Hooper, do enlighten me."

Molly rolled her eyes at his magnanimous tone. "You're a git if you think for one second that that kiss actually meant nothing to me."

Sherlock's brow hitched slightly. "Is that so? And what, prey tell, did it mean exactly?"

Molly took a breath, then, finally feeling stable enough to stand on her own, she let go of the work-top and took a few steps forward, closing the gap between herself and the consulting detective.

She looked up at him with a small smile at the corners of her lips. She reached up to caress his cheek. "Everything," she whispered and all semblance of strength left her voice. She let the guard she had been so desperately clinging to fall and opened herself up to him. "It meant absolutely everything to me. It was a dream come true."

Sherlock turned his head slightly, leaning his face into Molly's hand. His mind was having trouble forming a response as he was overcome by the sensation ignited by her simple touch. He lifted his hand and put it over hers.

"Well, Dr. Hooper," he began, voice slightly strained. "I'm glad we've gotten that resolved."

His arm wrapped about her waist and he backed her up until she banged against the work-top again; Molly let out a little surprised cry, that got muffled as Sherlock brought his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss so passionate it made the previous feel like something she'd receive from her nan.

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please let me know what you thought; I'd really appreciate it.**

**I should have the conclusion up soon.**


	4. Chapter 3

1**Well all right, here we go! **

**The conclusion... Sorry it didn't really end up deserving the upgrade to M.**

**But, first the obligatory disclaimer: I own no rights whatsoever to Sherlock or it's characters. Hmpf!**

**Please R&R!**

Molly moaned into Sherlock's mouth as she threaded her hands into his silky curls, luxuriating in the soft feel of them and twisting them round her fingers like she had always fantasised about doing. All her fantasies were coming true, Sherlock's mouth was on hers, his hands were roaming her body, one of them creeping beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumb stroking the smooth flesh of her flat stomach making her shiver.

His other hand wrapped round her wrist, his fingertips pressing lightly into it. Molly felt Sherlock smile against her mouth and his grip on her wrist slacken. He began to finger the chain of the bracelet he'd given her and playing with the pendant, twirling it in his fingers.

_Hmpf, playing with your heart – nothing new there_. There went that voice again, reminding Molly who she was dealing with and what he was capable of.

_Right – oh – _right!

All those pretty words he'd said about feelings could just be an escalation of whatever game he had initiated the night before.

_So, what? It seems fun doesn't it? Why not just play along?_ It appeared Molly had a devil on her shoulder as well.

_No. No, no, no!_

No matter how nice it felt, she couldn't let herself get sucked in if this was some kind of a lark of his.

It took more strength of will than Molly would have believed she possessed, but pressed her hands against Sherlock's chest and pushed him away.

"Wait, stop," she said breathlessly.

"What?" Sherlock asked, brow knitting in confusion. "Did I do something wrong? Forgive me. I haven't been in an intimate situation since university."

"No, no." Molly shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong – wait – did you say you haven't had sex since university?"

"That's correct."

She took a long blink and shook her head. "How on earth is that possible?" she boggled. "I mean you're... well, look at you!"

Sherlock's lips ticked upward. "Thank you, Molly," he said smoothly. "But just because I haven't actually been with a woman in years, doesn't mean I haven't been propositioned by them – I have. Many, many times. Just recently in fact I received numerous invitations from a certain _woman_, to_ have dinner_."

Something about the way he said 'have dinner' made her knees quake.

"I've just never been tempted – or tempted enough, I should say – to deviate from my commitment to my work and take them up on their offers," Sherlock continued. "I've never wanted anyone bad enough..." He leaned forward so close to Molly's mouth that she felt his next words on her lips. "Until now, until you, Molly Hooper."

A whimper escaped from her lips just before Sherlock closed the minuscule gap between them with his own.

Molly quickly found herself being swept up anew in a current of desire and almost forgot her purpose in pushing Sherlock away from her.

Almost.

"No. Wait!" she cried, tearing herself away again. "You always do this, every time– " They both winced at the reminder her words induced. "No, no – that's not what I - She shook her head hard and sighed. "You always make me loose my train of thought," she said steadily. "My head doesn't work properly whenever you're near. And now with the touching and the snogging – well it's a wonder my brain hasn't turned to complete mush!" She stopped and took a breath. "But, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to let you do that to me anymore. And I'm going to stick to it." Molly's fingers had curled into fist to keep them from trembling.

A small wrinkle appeared between Sherlock's brow. "Okaaay," he drawled. "So what's the problem?"

Molly closed her eyes and took another breath. "The problem is," she began quietly to keep control of her voice, "that I don't know if I can trust this, Sherlock. For years you have used my crush on you against me – throwing me little compliments and giving me that smirk of yours and looking at me with... those eyes."

"Well, it's not as though I could look at you with anyone else's eyes, now is it, Molly?" he quipped, _those_ eyes twinkling and his lips curving into _that_ smirk.

"Stop it!" she shrieked. "You're not going to throw me off! You've used me to get what you needed, whatever you needed and I just want you to know that if this" – she gestured a hand between them – "is some sort of game to you... Well, I'll never forgive you Sherlock Holmes. In fact I might even kill you! And I'm a pathologist so I know all the types of undetectable poisons to do it too. And with you being dead there won't be anyone clever enough to figure out what I've done."

Sherlock smirked.

"What the bloody hell are you smiling at?" Molly demanded.

"You," he said. "Has anyone ever told you, you are incredibly sexy when you're angry?" he said, his voice dark and deep, draping over her like velvet.

"Oh, no you don't," Molly said, pushing past him, getting herself out of her cornered position. "You're not going to distract me. Sherlock, I want to know," she pleaded in earnest. "Is this real? I mean...really?"

Sherlock steepled his hands together and brought them to his lips. "Real?" he asked. "In what sense? Am I doing all of this out of some sort of manipulation? No. Is it an experiment?" He paused and Molly felt her stomach flip-flopping all over the place. "Perhaps," he finally answered and Molly's stomach sank completely.

"But," Sherlock went on and Molly's belly fluttered once again with hope. "It was not one I endeavoured to conduct prior to kissing you the first time. I can say with absolute certainty that there was no thinking involved there whatsoever; I was acting purely on instinct – which is new ground for me. I also didn't plan to kiss you again, here now, or ever in fact. I've always been married to my work and never had any room for extramarital entanglements. But for some reason, I just can't seem to help myself in your presence."

"You always could before," Molly pointed out carefully. "What's changed now?"

Sherlock pivoted sharply on his heel and pressed his lips together in consideration."That's what I can't quite pinpoint," he murmured. "Because nothing has changed, not really – perception has just shifted a bit – mine, that is. It started at the Christmas gathering when you stood up to me – you'd never done that before."

Molly crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin slightly. "Well you'd never attacked me quite so cruelly before. And in front of so many people," she defended.

"Oh, you were quite right to do what you did. It brought to the surface something inside of you I'd never seen before – I always do miss something. You intrigued me. And stirred something inside me I didn't know existed – or have tried very hard to deny exist for a long time." He sighed. "You've open a Pandora's box in me Molly and I don't know how to close it. The real shocker however is that I'm not entirely sure I want to anymore, even if I could. I was so certain this morning, but now... Congratulations Dr. Hooper, you've turned my entire way of thinking completely on its head," he finished drily.

Molly's lips parted automatically with the urge to apologise, but she shut it quickly – she had nothing to apologise for. Her brow pulled into a frown and she worried her lower lip as she let Sherlock's words settle in. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of them. She had the answer she'd been hoping for – sort of – he had said he wasn't playing mind games with her. That is interest in her was genuine, however, he didn't sound all too pleased about that being the case.

She had been looking at the man for clarity, but it appeared he was even more confused about what was happening between them than she was; that realisation almost made Molly laugh. She'd never thought she'd see the day when she had one on the great Sherlock Holmes.

She shook the thought away, then Sherlock's voice took her completely out of her musings.

"I can't promise you anything." Molly's head snapped to Sherlock at the sound of his solemn tone. "Things will never be... traditional between us," he elaborated. "We won't have a conventional relationship. But, I would be interested in exploring this new territory with you – if you are willing to as well, that is. And as long as you know not to expect too much from me in _romantic_ matters."

Molly pressed her lips together to hold back a smile – she never heard someone purpose entering a relationship as if discussing a business transaction. She almost felt like she was signing a contract.

But, wait...

Fanciful Molly took hold of her. He, Sherlock Holmes, was purposing to have a relationship with her, Molly Hooper.

She couldn't contain the joy any longer, it burst from her in the form of that cheek hurting smile from this morning.

"Can I take that lunatic grin you're wearing to mean that you are amenable to these terms?" Sherlock asked her with just the hint of ahis own smile in his voice.

Molly let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob – yes, she had started to cry a bit; she couldn't help it. This was the best day of her life. She cleared her throat and tried to school her emotions as much as she could.

"Oh yes," she declared. "I am very amenable. Most definitely amenable." With that Molly crossed the space between them and proceeded to show Sherlock just how amenable she was.

Sherlock let out a muffled noise of surprise, that quickly shifted into a moan as Molly's lips came colliding into his own; she had pulled him down by the collar of his shirt so abruptly, Sherlock had almost been knocked off balance.

He quickly recovered himself though and gripped his hands on the sides of Molly's hips. He parted his lips yieldingly to the eager tongue lapping against them and as the tongue slipped into his mouth, Sherlock's own delved into Molly's. He took control of the situation she had initiated, turning them about and pushing Molly, yet again, up against the edge of the work-station.

His mouth left hers and trailed hotly across her cheek and down to her neck; he slipped out his tongue and lapped it along Molly's jumping pulse.

She let out a moan as her fingers raked through his curls, tugging slightly on his hair as they balled into fist.

Sherlock's lips curved up against Molly's throat at the reaciton.

"Er...S-Sherlock?" Molly's voice sounded strained and breathy.

"Hm?" he mumbled, his mouth too busy with other things to form actual words.

"D-didn't you erm," She paused to clear her throat and lick her lips, before continuing. "Didn't you mention something about wanting to throw me on top this work-top and shag me senseless?" she finished in a rush, her voice was high and her face flaming; she couldn't believe she was actually saying such things to Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock pulled his head back so that he could look at her face; her eyes were dilated almost full black – as were his own– her pulse jumping visibly in the hollow of her throat, face flushed with an attractive rosy hue.

Sherlock gave Molly a smile so wicked she nearly fell over at the sight of it – so it was a good thing he had a firm hold on her hips. He easily lifted her up and sat her down on the surface of the work-top. Molly let out a surprised yip as he did so.

Sherlock nudged her knees apart with his hips and stepped between them as he slowly ran his hand up her leg. "How fortuitous that you thought to wear a skirt today, Molly Hooper," he murmured in that grey-silk voice of his, his hand slipping underneath the hem of said skirt.

"It was a Christmas gift," she informed, voice strained. "From my mum. She said I should show off my legs more."

Sherlock looked down at the leg he was stroking, then back up to Molly's face. "She's right," he concluded. "Do thank her for me, will you?" he said, then proceeded to move his hand all the way up her the inside of her thigh.

Molly let out a cry as his nimble fingers grazed her most sensitive area. Oh, yes, mum would definitely be getting a thank you card.

**xoxoxo**

John Watson was grumbling all sorts of colourful epithets about his flatmate –who it appeared, despite being a 'genius' had forgotten how to answer his phone – as he stalked, once again, down the hall to the morgue of St. Bartholomew's hospital.

The doctor had been resting, just starting to get over his headache, when his mobile began ringing non-stop; it was Lestrade trying to get hold of Sherlock – the DI needed his help on a case.

John tried ringing Sherlock himself, but like Lestrade got no answer. He'd tried Molly's mobile as well. When she didn't answer John began to worry a bit.

So, he heaved himself out of the comfort of his bed and went out into the frigid day and grabbed a cab to Bart's.

As he turned the corridor, he heard what sounded like a crash coming from the direction of the labs. He froze for a moment, eye widening, before taking off in a sprint toward the noise.

"Sherlock!" he shouted he came bursting through the doors; the door came swinging back and nearly knocked the doctor over as he stood frozen at the sight before him; a half naked Molly Hooper straddling Sherlock Holmes, who was in an equal state of undress, on one of the work-tops.

Molly let out a squeal and crossed her arms over her bra-clad chest.

"Hello John," Sherlock drolly greeted, craning his neck back to get a look at his flummoxed flatmate. "What impeccable timing you have."

John just stared in open-mouthed silence.

"John!" Sherlock barked sternly, becoming irritated when John's eyes lingered on Molly for a moment too long.

"Sorry," he blurted, closing his eyes shut tightly and turning his back to them for good measure. "Oh god, sorry."

Sherlock cleared his throat smoothly. "Yes, fine. I presume you're here for some purpose...?" he prompted.

John licked his lips, his brow furrowing as he grappled to recall his reason for coming here. "Oh, right, er... um." He cleared his throat. "Erm, Lestrade phoned me," he finally managed. "You weren't answering you're phone –now I know why; you had your hands full– he needs your help on a case."

"A case?" Sherlock's voice perked slightly at this. "What case?"

"I...er, it's um," John stammered, his brain was still reeling a bit.

"Oh spit it out John!" Sherlock snapped.

"I didn't get all the details!" John cried.

"Right." Sherlock reached his hand back over his head, palm up. "Phone."

John didn't move.

"John. Phone. Now," Sherlock demanded impatiently.

John groaned and turned round, carefully keeping his eyes averted of the bodies on the counter. He looked about the room.

"Right. Where the bloody hell is it?"

"Trousers," said Sherlock. "Right pocket."

John boggled, from the angle he glimpsed he hadn't noticed Sherlock was missing his trousers – just that his shirt was undone exposing his chest.

"Right... okay," he drawled, eyes searching the floor. He saw Molly's discarded blouse and lab coat, but not Sherlock's trousers. "And where are they, then?"

"Erm... I think they might've landed on top of the specimen freezer," A sheepish, yet helpful Molly offered.

John looked up carefully and saw that, yes, Sherlock's black slacks were dangling from the freezer.

He cleared his throat and muttered an awkward 'thank you' to Molly. He crossed the room and plucked down the trousers. He stretched his arm out behind them to hand them to Sherlock.

"Molly, could you?" Sherlock asked.

Molly excepted the trousers and dug in his right pocket for the phone, then handed it off to him.

"Thank you, Molly," he said as he punched in Lestrade's number.

"Hmm..." he murmured as he listened to the specifics of the case. "Yes, all right," he pronounced after a moment. "We're on our way." He hung up and handed his mobile back to Molly to return to his pocket.

"Right, er... 'spose I should be getting off you now then," Molly piped in.

"Yes, unfortunately," he agreed with a smile. "John, do be so kind as to go down and fetch us a cab so that Molly may keep what's left of her modestly in tact, hm?"

"Oh, yeah, right 'course." The doctor beat a hasty retreat to the door.

"Bye John," Molly called after him.

"Right, bye Molly. It was nice to see you," he said automatically. "Er... I mean... I didn't mean that it was nice to _see_ you – not that _wasn't_ nice – but not that I enjoyed it – or that I didn't– "

"John!" Sherlock interrupted. "Cab! _Now_."

"Right. Bye." John practically flew out of the lab.

**xoxoxo**

A few moments later John was waving his hand about trying to hail a taxi to no avail while his mind reeled from what he'd just witnessed.

_What the bloody hell...?_

He was still puzzling on it when Sherlock strode out of the hospital – his clothing perfectly in place as always – no signs of the activity he'd been engaged in just moments before.

John wondered if perhaps he wasn't still a little bit drunk and maybe imagined the whole thing. Until he noticed the faint tint of lipstick still clinging to Sherlock's usually pale lips.

John gaped at him, shaking his head in amazement.

"I thought I told you to get a cab," Sherlock remarked, stepping up to the kerb and sticking out his hand – almost immediately a taxi pulled to a stop.

Sherlock opened the door and slid in leaving a still gawping John alone again on the kerb. He popped his head back out with an impatient sigh. "Are you coming or not, John?"

John pressed his mouth in a tight annoyed line and clamoured into the cab, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Right," he ventured after Sherlock gave the cabbie the address and they pulled away from the hospital. "What the bloody hell was that I just walked in on, then?"

Sherlock snorted. "Well, my dear Dr. Watson," he jeered. "If you don't know the answer to that I'd say your medical training was seriously lacking."

John blew out a breath in anger. "I'm serious Sherlock! You were having sex – or were about to be – with Molly Hooper – _in the morgue_!"

At this Sherlock saw the eyebrows of the cabbie rise in the rearview mirror; the man was probably wondering if Molly Hooper was living or dead.

Sherlock gave the man a pointed glare and his eyes immediately flicked back to the road.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked out the window. "Yes," he replied in a bored tone. "And?"

"And?" John spluttered. "Bloody, _and?_ Don't give me that Sherlock. This is huge. Something's going on and I want to know just what the hell it is. And I swear to god if you tell me this is some sort of game your playing with her, I swear I'll..."

Sherlock held up a hand cutting off whatever threat the doctor intended to make. "No need for that John," he said smoothly. "Molly already beat you to it, promising to dispose of me in a manner no-one will ever discover if I wasn't being genuine in my intentions."

"Well, good for her," said John with an approving huff. "So wait... You are being genuine, then?" he wanted to know. "You and Molly; it's for real?"

Sherlock hummed an affirmation.

A big grin spread across John's face – it had that 'on to something' look about it like the one from earlier that day.

"Well," John said, "I guess that New Year's kiss meant something after all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man and sighed before turning back to look out the window. He pulled out his mobile and began to text – signalling the end of this conversation.

John just chuckled and shook his head, turning it to look out his own side.

**xoxoxo**

Molly's hands shook as she buttoned up her blouse and tried to smooth her hair back into place.

She couldn't believe what had just happened.

She had very nearly engaged in illicit activity with Sherlock Holmes.

It was mad.

She couldn't decide for sure if she was grateful that John Watson had interrupted them or not; if he hadn't someone else could have and if it had been anyone else Molly would no doubt have ended up sacked.

She'd have to be more careful in future not to let things get out of hand with Sherlock while she was at work.

In the future...

Molly frowned. She still felt ambivalent about all of this. She believed Sherlock when he said he wanted to explore this new territory with her, but he had a notoriously short attention span; he got bored so easily.

He could go off and get wrapped up in this case and forget any of this ever happened.

Molly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

She didn't know what she would do if that happened.

She jumped when her mobile dinged, surprised. She shook herself and grabbed it up.

_The case shouldn't take long. I'll text you when it's over._

_We'll have dinner – SH._

Molly felt her mouth stretching up in a smile, the nervous knots in her stomach starting to loosen.

_Sounds lovely. Have fun – MH_

She put he phone back down; she didn't expect a reply. She hadn't expected the first text. She sighed and finished doing up her blouse – hands no longer shaking and went back to work, humming a little tune as she did so.

THE END.

**Thanks to everyone for reading. As much as I love these characters and enjoyed writing for them, I'm afraid I didn't do them justice; I'm still new to this fandom ( I only read my first Sherlock fic about a month ago) Hopefully I'll get better with them as I go on – which I hope to do if people are interested in reading more from me.**

**Well anyway, if you would please leave me a review and tell me what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. Concrit gratefully accepted!**


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